JamesPKinsella
James P Kinsella is a research based Visual Artist living in Vienna, Austria. He has an M.A. in Visual Arts Practices (2009).
JamesPKinsella
Follow
Donate coins to JamesPKinsella.
Juice
Cancel
Written by JamesPKinsella in portal Simon & Schuster

Celebrating Angels and a Bygone Time

You sometimes hear off great tales about extra-ordinary people miraculously intervening in the timeline of one’s life path. Well here is an account of one of those tales with a particular glimpse into a bygone time.

At the end of the fifties industrialisation had not yet reached rural Ireland and the only reference to the economic word growth were the beautiful green fields inspired by the rain and of course weeds including nettles. At least that was the recollection of a ten year old boy with a premature desire to become famous, conquer the world and leave this god forsaken place.

The reality was different, here was a very beautiful idyllic place occupied by friendly and content people with little in relation to resources but inflicted by chronic unemployment that effected local farmers and the rural community much more than city folk. The national economy was sluggish with dwindling activity and hindered the possibility of providing a modicum of comfort for one’s families. As young children we realised very quickly where our bread was buttered and appreciated wholeheartedly any inspiration or generosity dished out.

In our situation intervention was in the guise of Aunt Angel whom we perceived as being a blessing in disguise or the nearest thing to a real angel – as we would joked. Angel was my mum’s older sister and best friend and lived in our grandparent’s lovely old house down the road on the edge of the village. She had an easy life, so we thought with lots of money, no children and lucky for us a love of dogs, horses and children in that order. She popped over to us every other week and infused excitement into the mundane drudgery of our traditional ways. Of course our lives were not boring in the sense of things to do on a large rambling farm but more because we had strict routines and chores out of sight of friends and the village shop. Angel’s arrival was clearly marked by the distinct noise of her Morris Mini Clubman, light green rumbling up the avenue always on a Friday just after school, sometimes before a national holiday and of course before our birthdays. Now that car was something else, the ‘bees-knees’ we thought compared to our old Ford Anglia and of course much more expensive. It never failed to please me, the look, the shape, that light green rather than black colour and those long windows that presented a clear perfect view of the passing world.

Angel had particular and sometimes peculiar ways and she loved to pass on wise tales and family wisdom from our very successful grandfather who accumulated ‘a pile’ over his lifetime that dwindled away during the war years. One of her exciting things or fetish was the ceremony of wrapping presents. She would wrap them in colourful paper in an elaborate way that obviously demanded a lot of time and probably cost a lot too. But the effect was dramatic and successful as it pleased us in a caring and opulent way. We had to wait days before we could touch or open the presents and that led to speculation and small bets taken by our older brother who always seemed to win every time. Our parent’s presents didn’t create that much fuss as we kind of knew what could be afforded and we steered them into what we wanted.

To get back to the farm, it was what you would call a very traditional entity with almost no modern technology for that time apart from a tractor and an electric milk machine and would be classed as a sustainable organic venture by today’s standards. Crops were rotated, manure from the pigs, cows, hens and cattle were used to fertilise the fields and there was plenty of natural scrub land that the cattle loved to graze. Our animals really had a good wild sort of life and wandered whereever they wanted creating little paths all around the farm that we loved to run and play in. The food we produced was of the purest quality and I’m sure resulted in all of us being still very healthy and more resistant to illness.

Availability of labour was a key to successful farming and the only way before mechanisation to produce a lot of produce. During these times jobs were scarce and money even scarcer so people from the village and travellers were always calling to our door asking for seasonal work. All our tillage required manual work and cleaning and farm manure had to be spread over the fields so a lot of working hands were needed.

We slaughtered a pig once a year and cured and stored the bacon in salted barrels. We made homemade delicacies including sausages and black pudding from the blood, entrails and offal. It was ridiculously fascinating to think of killing a pig as we were not allowed to see the procedure. But being kids we somehow managed to find a crack in the wall and sneak a peep at the gruesome event. There was a white sheet usually from my grandmother’s bed spread over a large wooden table used only for killing which for some reason reminded me of the local church and alter. In fact the whole processes of butchering, curing and salting the pig meat was a kind of ritual in itself. Our uncle Richard from across the river in Clogga joined in at this event and added further excitement. There was ample meat for both families as the biggest and fattest pig was chosen. These were busy times for both our families. Tempers at least of the grown-ups ran high because of the work to be done and only sixteen year olds and older were allowed to help out.

Times were bleak during that period my father would say, money was scarce and even though we had a large farm of over a hundred acres, profits were scarce and we could only afford the bare necessities. We recycled and reused almost everything nothing went to waste and the dreaded pass me downs, especially my sisters knickers were handed down to me and my brothers as we did not waste on new cloths. Food wise we grew almost every vegetable possible potatoes, carrots, cabbage, turnips, peas and all sorts of fruit including apples, pears, blackcurrants, raspberries and rhubarb. We even made our own brown bread from home grown corn and jams, spreads from our fruit and honey. We mended our own clothes and were careful with our possessions to make them last longer. There was literally no waste, it was regarded as a sin to spoil or misuse anything and frugal ways were endemic. We accepted all offerings as we believed in reusing and knew we may not get the opportunity again, that’s so different than today’s abundance and wastefulness. I remember dividing and sharing the ice cream wrapper of Sunday ice cream not to waste the ice scrapings and I thing we valued things much more.

Presents were another story, being very scarce particularly in a family of nine children so you can imagine how serious this ‘territory’ was for each and every one of us. Now that’s where Aunt Angel entered the equation of life. She was a fair person and had no favourites, so we were all treated equally. My Mum’s meagre income came from fixed rent from the inheritance of a family house and a bit from the eggs that Aunty Angel bought every other week. She also received a young calf from my dad every year that she fatted for market. The price she fetched at the Autumn market for her now grown calf affected the size and quality of our Christmas presents.

Aunt Angel had a generous husband, Tom, who when we visited sometimes gave us sixpence to spend on whatever we wanted in their local shop down the road, a city shop. Angel and Tom both had a passion for dogs and horses and they went to all the horse shows and dog competitions throughout Ireland. They always brought one of us in turn to the dog show to help look after Chablis their large fancy dog that we secretly knew was Angel's ‘real’ child. We knew she would have liked children and we sometimes felt sorry for her but also knew that if there were children we would not have been treated so well. In return for our not so hard labour we got two and six pence for the day, lunch, treats and of course lots of ‘nice’ attention, coming from a large family that was welcome. We regarded the procedures on that day looking after the dog as fun, a good time rather than work and superior to farm work and chores. Having five brothers and four sisters the time between our turns for the dog show felt long and more precious and a big event in our lives. Every other month when a show came around we knew that we had to wait many times before our turn came up, it felt like years but we knew it would arrive.

Angel’s passion for dogs was incredible, especially Chablis her favourite dog of all times and sometimes I thought it would be nicer to be Angel’s dog, just to get that undivided attention, care and lots and lots of things that her 'large bunch of joy' got.

13
4
12
Juice
176 reads
Donate coins to JamesPKinsella.
Juice
Cancel
Written by JamesPKinsella in portal Simon & Schuster
Celebrating Angels and a Bygone Time
You sometimes hear off great tales about extra-ordinary people miraculously intervening in the timeline of one’s life path. Well here is an account of one of those tales with a particular glimpse into a bygone time.
At the end of the fifties industrialisation had not yet reached rural Ireland and the only reference to the economic word growth were the beautiful green fields inspired by the rain and of course weeds including nettles. At least that was the recollection of a ten year old boy with a premature desire to become famous, conquer the world and leave this god forsaken place.
The reality was different, here was a very beautiful idyllic place occupied by friendly and content people with little in relation to resources but inflicted by chronic unemployment that effected local farmers and the rural community much more than city folk. The national economy was sluggish with dwindling activity and hindered the possibility of providing a modicum of comfort for one’s families. As young children we realised very quickly where our bread was buttered and appreciated wholeheartedly any inspiration or generosity dished out.
In our situation intervention was in the guise of Aunt Angel whom we perceived as being a blessing in disguise or the nearest thing to a real angel – as we would joked. Angel was my mum’s older sister and best friend and lived in our grandparent’s lovely old house down the road on the edge of the village. She had an easy life, so we thought with lots of money, no children and lucky for us a love of dogs, horses and children in that order. She popped over to us every other week and infused excitement into the mundane drudgery of our traditional ways. Of course our lives were not boring in the sense of things to do on a large rambling farm but more because we had strict routines and chores out of sight of friends and the village shop. Angel’s arrival was clearly marked by the distinct noise of her Morris Mini Clubman, light green rumbling up the avenue always on a Friday just after school, sometimes before a national holiday and of course before our birthdays. Now that car was something else, the ‘bees-knees’ we thought compared to our old Ford Anglia and of course much more expensive. It never failed to please me, the look, the shape, that light green rather than black colour and those long windows that presented a clear perfect view of the passing world.
Angel had particular and sometimes peculiar ways and she loved to pass on wise tales and family wisdom from our very successful grandfather who accumulated ‘a pile’ over his lifetime that dwindled away during the war years. One of her exciting things or fetish was the ceremony of wrapping presents. She would wrap them in colourful paper in an elaborate way that obviously demanded a lot of time and probably cost a lot too. But the effect was dramatic and successful as it pleased us in a caring and opulent way. We had to wait days before we could touch or open the presents and that led to speculation and small bets taken by our older brother who always seemed to win every time. Our parent’s presents didn’t create that much fuss as we kind of knew what could be afforded and we steered them into what we wanted.
To get back to the farm, it was what you would call a very traditional entity with almost no modern technology for that time apart from a tractor and an electric milk machine and would be classed as a sustainable organic venture by today’s standards. Crops were rotated, manure from the pigs, cows, hens and cattle were used to fertilise the fields and there was plenty of natural scrub land that the cattle loved to graze. Our animals really had a good wild sort of life and wandered whereever they wanted creating little paths all around the farm that we loved to run and play in. The food we produced was of the purest quality and I’m sure resulted in all of us being still very healthy and more resistant to illness.
Availability of labour was a key to successful farming and the only way before mechanisation to produce a lot of produce. During these times jobs were scarce and money even scarcer so people from the village and travellers were always calling to our door asking for seasonal work. All our tillage required manual work and cleaning and farm manure had to be spread over the fields so a lot of working hands were needed.
We slaughtered a pig once a year and cured and stored the bacon in salted barrels. We made homemade delicacies including sausages and black pudding from the blood, entrails and offal. It was ridiculously fascinating to think of killing a pig as we were not allowed to see the procedure. But being kids we somehow managed to find a crack in the wall and sneak a peep at the gruesome event. There was a white sheet usually from my grandmother’s bed spread over a large wooden table used only for killing which for some reason reminded me of the local church and alter. In fact the whole processes of butchering, curing and salting the pig meat was a kind of ritual in itself. Our uncle Richard from across the river in Clogga joined in at this event and added further excitement. There was ample meat for both families as the biggest and fattest pig was chosen. These were busy times for both our families. Tempers at least of the grown-ups ran high because of the work to be done and only sixteen year olds and older were allowed to help out.
Times were bleak during that period my father would say, money was scarce and even though we had a large farm of over a hundred acres, profits were scarce and we could only afford the bare necessities. We recycled and reused almost everything nothing went to waste and the dreaded pass me downs, especially my sisters knickers were handed down to me and my brothers as we did not waste on new cloths. Food wise we grew almost every vegetable possible potatoes, carrots, cabbage, turnips, peas and all sorts of fruit including apples, pears, blackcurrants, raspberries and rhubarb. We even made our own brown bread from home grown corn and jams, spreads from our fruit and honey. We mended our own clothes and were careful with our possessions to make them last longer. There was literally no waste, it was regarded as a sin to spoil or misuse anything and frugal ways were endemic. We accepted all offerings as we believed in reusing and knew we may not get the opportunity again, that’s so different than today’s abundance and wastefulness. I remember dividing and sharing the ice cream wrapper of Sunday ice cream not to waste the ice scrapings and I thing we valued things much more.
Presents were another story, being very scarce particularly in a family of nine children so you can imagine how serious this ‘territory’ was for each and every one of us. Now that’s where Aunt Angel entered the equation of life. She was a fair person and had no favourites, so we were all treated equally. My Mum’s meagre income came from fixed rent from the inheritance of a family house and a bit from the eggs that Aunty Angel bought every other week. She also received a young calf from my dad every year that she fatted for market. The price she fetched at the Autumn market for her now grown calf affected the size and quality of our Christmas presents.


Aunt Angel had a generous husband, Tom, who when we visited sometimes gave us sixpence to spend on whatever we wanted in their local shop down the road, a city shop. Angel and Tom both had a passion for dogs and horses and they went to all the horse shows and dog competitions throughout Ireland. They always brought one of us in turn to the dog show to help look after Chablis their large fancy dog that we secretly knew was Angel's ‘real’ child. We knew she would have liked children and we sometimes felt sorry for her but also knew that if there were children we would not have been treated so well. In return for our not so hard labour we got two and six pence for the day, lunch, treats and of course lots of ‘nice’ attention, coming from a large family that was welcome. We regarded the procedures on that day looking after the dog as fun, a good time rather than work and superior to farm work and chores. Having five brothers and four sisters the time between our turns for the dog show felt long and more precious and a big event in our lives. Every other month when a show came around we knew that we had to wait many times before our turn came up, it felt like years but we knew it would arrive.

Angel’s passion for dogs was incredible, especially Chablis her favourite dog of all times and sometimes I thought it would be nicer to be Angel’s dog, just to get that undivided attention, care and lots and lots of things that her 'large bunch of joy' got.
13
4
12
Juice
176 reads
Load 12 Comments
Login to post comments.
Advertisement  (turn off)
Donate coins to JamesPKinsella.
Juice
Cancel
Write a Poem about your favourite word or words, if like me you have two. My favourite words are Dubious and indubitably and yet, I rarely use them. I will post my poem with these two words soon...Can't wait to read yours!
Written by JamesPKinsella in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Alone and Free

When I was a student back in the mysterious seventies we had a variety of drinking songs and the most important part of the song in my opinion, was the words. We also had challenges to test or evaluate how stable or drunk we were and what our capabilities were? One of these challenges involved reciting up to twenty sentences, a string of words relating to numbers, I never got the name of this challenge. An example would go – Big fat hen…. Couple of duck…. Three brown bear…. Four fine furze…. etc. etc. My favourite line was…. Eight egotistic egoists egotistically expressing exciting ecstasies…. Nine was also good…. Nine Nubian nymphs nimbly nibbling nuts, which created all sorts of ideas and thoughts for a young man at that time!

So to get to my favourite words, it’s not only their complexity and meaning but also their sound and relevance to the ‘perpetrator’ that counts. For this challenge I choose the words ‘exciting ecstasies’ to see where and what these pleasing ‘conglomerates’ might expose.

Alone and Free

Sneaking a fragment of time

And being all alone

Contemplating the past

Inhabiting places foregone.

I came across some memories

From the dubious past

A collection of ‘exciting ecstasies’

That infinitely will, forever last.

 

23
4
7
Juice
140 reads
Donate coins to JamesPKinsella.
Juice
Cancel
Write a Poem about your favourite word or words, if like me you have two. My favourite words are Dubious and indubitably and yet, I rarely use them. I will post my poem with these two words soon...Can't wait to read yours!
Written by JamesPKinsella in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Alone and Free
When I was a student back in the mysterious seventies we had a variety of drinking songs and the most important part of the song in my opinion, was the words. We also had challenges to test or evaluate how stable or drunk we were and what our capabilities were? One of these challenges involved reciting up to twenty sentences, a string of words relating to numbers, I never got the name of this challenge. An example would go – Big fat hen…. Couple of duck…. Three brown bear…. Four fine furze…. etc. etc. My favourite line was…. Eight egotistic egoists egotistically expressing exciting ecstasies…. Nine was also good…. Nine Nubian nymphs nimbly nibbling nuts, which created all sorts of ideas and thoughts for a young man at that time!
So to get to my favourite words, it’s not only their complexity and meaning but also their sound and relevance to the ‘perpetrator’ that counts. For this challenge I choose the words ‘exciting ecstasies’ to see where and what these pleasing ‘conglomerates’ might expose.



Alone and Free

Sneaking a fragment of time
And being all alone
Contemplating the past
Inhabiting places foregone.

I came across some memories
From the dubious past
A collection of ‘exciting ecstasies’
That infinitely will, forever last.



 
#poetrychallenge 
23
4
7
Juice
140 reads
Load 7 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to JamesPKinsella.
Juice
Cancel
Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by JamesPKinsella

No Rejection No Cry

It’s been ten weeks, day in, day out, I’ve been putting together art proposals about ten in all. It’s the beginning of the year I’m bursting with optimism, energy and all things go. Nothing can stop me, full steam ahead, top speed, if you’re not in you can’t win etc. etc. One proposal after the other - research, writing, painting, photographing, photoshop-ing, editing, checking, phoning, posting, asking, re-editing, re-checking and a hundred and one other things. It takes serious intent, a lot of work, tunnel vision and a very large splash of pure optimism and one hell of a crazy mind to work up a brilliant idea, then develop it, find solutions, present an end game and then send this proposal to unknown entities or special, talented, know it all, all knowledgeable, invincible Gods.

But dare I say it, not only did I not get a single acknowledgement, a reply, a response or any thread of someone looking, seeing, receiving, posting, checking, investigating, reading or observing all my efforts. Nope not at all, not by any molecule of miraculous energy did any one explode onto or stumble upon my files.

Poor me no replies, nothing at all, now some art organisations don't reply, they deem it not worth their resources but that is a position that many fresh artists have to put up with for a sizable part of their career.

A prominent international artist once told us in Art College that when she got her first important exhibition she was ecstatic and after so many rejections to get such a big exhibition with a serious, famous and ‘emerged’ artist was just heaven, marvellous and downright good news. After the exhibition the prominent artist asked her what was next? She answered I think one or two open-calls are coming up in the next few months and she stopped there. He immediately looked on in shock and suggested that she should get off her ‘arse’ and apply for at least a number of calls every week as he usually received one approval every hundred applications until he became well known. She went home disillusioned but being a ‘true’ artist she eventually followed his advice and now she has reached the top rung of the 'ladder'!

Guess what I didn’t even get a rejection, that’s an artist’s predicament especially in the early stages of their career.

  

12
4
8
Juice
224 reads
Donate coins to JamesPKinsella.
Juice
Cancel
Challenge of the Week #61: Write a piece of flash fiction about rejection. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by JamesPKinsella
No Rejection No Cry
It’s been ten weeks, day in, day out, I’ve been putting together art proposals about ten in all. It’s the beginning of the year I’m bursting with optimism, energy and all things go. Nothing can stop me, full steam ahead, top speed, if you’re not in you can’t win etc. etc. One proposal after the other - research, writing, painting, photographing, photoshop-ing, editing, checking, phoning, posting, asking, re-editing, re-checking and a hundred and one other things. It takes serious intent, a lot of work, tunnel vision and a very large splash of pure optimism and one hell of a crazy mind to work up a brilliant idea, then develop it, find solutions, present an end game and then send this proposal to unknown entities or special, talented, know it all, all knowledgeable, invincible Gods.
But dare I say it, not only did I not get a single acknowledgement, a reply, a response or any thread of someone looking, seeing, receiving, posting, checking, investigating, reading or observing all my efforts. Nope not at all, not by any molecule of miraculous energy did any one explode onto or stumble upon my files.
Poor me no replies, nothing at all, now some art organisations don't reply, they deem it not worth their resources but that is a position that many fresh artists have to put up with for a sizable part of their career.



A prominent international artist once told us in Art College that when she got her first important exhibition she was ecstatic and after so many rejections to get such a big exhibition with a serious, famous and ‘emerged’ artist was just heaven, marvellous and downright good news. After the exhibition the prominent artist asked her what was next? She answered I think one or two open-calls are coming up in the next few months and she stopped there. He immediately looked on in shock and suggested that she should get off her ‘arse’ and apply for at least a number of calls every week as he usually received one approval every hundred applications until he became well known. She went home disillusioned but being a ‘true’ artist she eventually followed his advice and now she has reached the top rung of the 'ladder'!
Guess what I didn’t even get a rejection, that’s an artist’s predicament especially in the early stages of their career.

  
#prosechallenge  #Itslit  #getlit 
12
4
8
Juice
224 reads
Load 8 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to JamesPKinsella.
Juice
Cancel
Challenge of the Week #59: Modernise Shakespeare’s ‘Shall I Compare Thee’ sonnet. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by JamesPKinsella

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?

  

You are but a multitude of ray?

Shining brighter than bright.

Your golden locks shiver through May,

Shortness of time, is a mean sight:

Too hot, too hot, too very hot,

And sometimes cold;

Fading, transfixed in a pot,

Nature it is too bold;

Complete, never to fade

Your beauty 'twill decline;

Death never yours to parade,

Blooded ink renders divine:

Once your facilities and senses sway,

You will forever be a Dorian Gray.

21
5
20
Juice
216 reads
Donate coins to JamesPKinsella.
Juice
Cancel
Challenge of the Week #59: Modernise Shakespeare’s ‘Shall I Compare Thee’ sonnet. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by JamesPKinsella
Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?
  
You are but a multitude of ray?
Shining brighter than bright.
Your golden locks shiver through May,
Shortness of time, is a mean sight:
Too hot, too hot, too very hot,
And sometimes cold;
Fading, transfixed in a pot,
Nature it is too bold;
Complete, never to fade
Your beauty 'twill decline;
Death never yours to parade,
Blooded ink renders divine:
Once your facilities and senses sway,
You will forever be a Dorian Gray.
#prosechallenge  #Itslit  #getlit  #itlit 
21
5
20
Juice
216 reads
Load 20 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to JamesPKinsella.
Juice
Cancel
Written by JamesPKinsella in portal Poetry & Free Verse

News News News

  

Out of control

No other advice

A.I. supreme

Actual price

Corporates are entities

On their own

Gorging growth and profit

Without peoples scorn

Smartphones are an extension

Off the New Self

Provide everything

No other help

Too late to change

Nanorobots on the way

Life as we know it

Another day.                                     James P Kinsella ©

 

13
5
9
Juice
148 reads
Donate coins to JamesPKinsella.
Juice
Cancel
Written by JamesPKinsella in portal Poetry & Free Verse
News News News
  
Out of control
No other advice
A.I. supreme
Actual price

Corporates are entities
On their own
Gorging growth and profit
Without peoples scorn

Smartphones are an extension
Off the New Self
Provide everything
No other help

Too late to change
Nanorobots on the way
Life as we know it


Another day.                                     James P Kinsella ©



 
#poetry 
13
5
9
Juice
148 reads
Load 9 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to JamesPKinsella.
Juice
Cancel
Written by JamesPKinsella in portal Romance & Erotica

Real Love

(This piece is meant to be a bunch of thoughts not prose, poem or anything else but the beginning of a joint communal definition from everyone whom comes in contact with this expanding, evolving view point of LOVE?)

Love is a connection between two beings

A respect and deep understanding or feeling between each other

A live, visual, verbal, mental and equal connect for both partners

A mutual give and take equal in all parts

An unquestionable positive and unconditional energy towards each other

An open bilateral journey where honest adjustments are honoured

A meeting, bonding, gelling and evolving of minds

A comfortable, cosy place where two people exist

A cave, place, home, environment or space that both like being in

An adopting, accommodating, evolving and open connect

Where adjustment, change and compromise are possible

A place that sounds like heaven on earth

Love is the plan, I in any direction. Worthy of each deciding consideration, the order by which i guide my hand. The only thing to give and understand as freely as oxygen that then lends our life. On this I stand

An agreement to love and a decision to do so

Love is all encompassing                                                                                                 Love is a gift and a request, never a demand.

 

16
7
9
Juice
134 reads
Donate coins to JamesPKinsella.
Juice
Cancel
Written by JamesPKinsella in portal Romance & Erotica
Real Love
(This piece is meant to be a bunch of thoughts not prose, poem or anything else but the beginning of a joint communal definition from everyone whom comes in contact with this expanding, evolving view point of LOVE?)

Love is a connection between two beings
A respect and deep understanding or feeling between each other
A live, visual, verbal, mental and equal connect for both partners
A mutual give and take equal in all parts
An unquestionable positive and unconditional energy towards each other
An open bilateral journey where honest adjustments are honoured
A meeting, bonding, gelling and evolving of minds
A comfortable, cosy place where two people exist
A cave, place, home, environment or space that both like being in
An adopting, accommodating, evolving and open connect
Where adjustment, change and compromise are possible

A place that sounds like heaven on earth
Love is the plan, I in any direction. Worthy of each deciding consideration, the order by which i guide my hand. The only thing to give and understand as freely as oxygen that then lends our life. On this I stand




An agreement to love and a decision to do so




Love is all encompassing                                                                                                 Love is a gift and a request, never a demand.









 
#nonfiction  #adventure 
16
7
9
Juice
134 reads
Load 9 Comments
Login to post comments.
Advertisement  (turn off)
Donate coins to JamesPKinsella.
Juice
Cancel
Written by JamesPKinsella in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Changing Snow

The snow it is coming at last

Patterns are not in store

Weather is not as past

But everybody they do roar

What have we done to this land

That it should sing no more

Will we ever understand

It’s not possible to restore

Down the road a billion or four

Climate it is in change

Worries a plenty in store

Activists stay in range

What have we done

Where will we glow

Mess up this planet

And there’s nothing to show

  

18
6
11
Juice
181 reads
Donate coins to JamesPKinsella.
Juice
Cancel
Written by JamesPKinsella in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Changing Snow
The snow it is coming at last
Patterns are not in store
Weather is not as past
But everybody they do roar

What have we done to this land
That it should sing no more
Will we ever understand
It’s not possible to restore

Down the road a billion or four
Climate it is in change
Worries a plenty in store
Activists stay in range

What have we done
Where will we glow
Mess up this planet
And there’s nothing to show


  
#poetry 
18
6
11
Juice
181 reads
Load 11 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to JamesPKinsella.
Juice
Cancel
Prose Challenge of the Week #53: Write about manipulation. The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive $100 and will be placed first on our Spotlight page and the runner-up will receive 1000 coins. When sharing to social media, please use the hashtag #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by JamesPKinsella

Manipulative Cat Beware

Her name a chocolate, Mitzi Blue

Mice tormenting her favourite game

Cat-tree nest provides a good view

Cuddle stroking is her claim

Preparing to be caressed

Curling into a pose

Somebody is coming

Suddenly sticks up her nose

Twisting into a contorted ball

Meowing in a human way

Can’t miss her irresistible call

Trapped by her delicate sway

So all you cat lovers

Pay heed to what I say

Ignore manipulative cats

Or they will rule your way

 

24
6
29
Juice
228 reads
Donate coins to JamesPKinsella.
Juice
Cancel
Prose Challenge of the Week #53: Write about manipulation. The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive $100 and will be placed first on our Spotlight page and the runner-up will receive 1000 coins. When sharing to social media, please use the hashtag #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by JamesPKinsella
Manipulative Cat Beware

Her name a chocolate, Mitzi Blue
Mice tormenting her favourite game
Cat-tree nest provides a good view
Cuddle stroking is her claim

Preparing to be caressed
Curling into a pose
Somebody is coming
Suddenly sticks up her nose

Twisting into a contorted ball
Meowing in a human way
Can’t miss her irresistible call
Trapped by her delicate sway

So all you cat lovers
Pay heed to what I say
Ignore manipulative cats
Or they will rule your way

 
#poetry  #Proeschallenge 
24
6
29
Juice
228 reads
Load 29 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to JamesPKinsella.
Juice
Cancel
Prose Challenge of the Week #52: Pick a classic poem and re-write it, modernize it, and share your poetic interpretation of the piece. The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive $100 and will be placed first on our Spotlight page and the runner-up will receive 1000 coins. When sharing to social media, please use the hashtag #itslit
Written by JamesPKinsella

A Host of Golden Smartphones

 

I travel public alone and bare

On roads and tracks o’er Vienna fair

People in multitudes they do stare

Shining smartphones in the air

In aisles a standing, upon soft seats

Reading tweeting as horn beeps

In the dark, projecting to the face

Brightened people-oids on their way

Row by row in every place

At stops on footpaths in public display

Thousands visible any one time

Their laughs and jokes seem very fine

Those travelled, the ones without a glare

No sparkle they seem extremely bare

Great talkers, of a very good ear

Could not help but they loudly hear

Plainly visible without much thought

It’s amazing what, to me they brought

At home relaxing, a life that’s mine

On awakening, maybee just before sleep

My mind the smartphone it doth shine

Delaying my fall to that dreaded deep

Delightfully I fill with that multitude of light

Many people happy, shining exquisitely bright

...............................................

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed--and gazed--but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

.

  

12
4
23
Juice
270 reads
Donate coins to JamesPKinsella.
Juice
Cancel
Prose Challenge of the Week #52: Pick a classic poem and re-write it, modernize it, and share your poetic interpretation of the piece. The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive $100 and will be placed first on our Spotlight page and the runner-up will receive 1000 coins. When sharing to social media, please use the hashtag #itslit
Written by JamesPKinsella
A Host of Golden Smartphones
 
I travel public alone and bare
On roads and tracks o’er Vienna fair
People in multitudes they do stare
Shining smartphones in the air
In aisles a standing, upon soft seats
Reading tweeting as horn beeps

In the dark, projecting to the face
Brightened people-oids on their way
Row by row in every place
At stops on footpaths in public display
Thousands visible any one time
Their laughs and jokes seem very fine

Those travelled, the ones without a glare
No sparkle they seem extremely bare
Great talkers, of a very good ear
Could not help but they loudly hear
Plainly visible without much thought
It’s amazing what, to me they brought

At home relaxing, a life that’s mine
On awakening, maybee just before sleep
My mind the smartphone it doth shine
Delaying my fall to that dreaded deep
Delightfully I fill with that multitude of light
Many people happy, shining exquisitely bright



...............................................
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH



I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
.





  
#prosechallenge  #Itslit 
12
4
23
Juice
270 reads
Load 23 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to JamesPKinsella.
Juice
Cancel
Written by JamesPKinsella in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Winter Rumblings

Now that autumn it wilt glow

I pray summer tis not at near

The whirling wind it doth blow

The blue sky it does disappear

Now that summer it hath gone

I most drearily do fear

That autumn it hath come

Summer most certainly tis not here

  

15
3
5
Juice
75 reads
Donate coins to JamesPKinsella.
Juice
Cancel
Written by JamesPKinsella in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Winter Rumblings

Now that autumn it wilt glow
I pray summer tis not at near
The whirling wind it doth blow
The blue sky it does disappear

Now that summer it hath gone
I most drearily do fear
That autumn it hath come
Summer most certainly tis not here

  
#poetry 
15
3
5
Juice
75 reads
Load 5 Comments
Login to post comments.
Advertisement  (turn off)